Hannah Potter and the Philosophers Stone
by Gender-Reversal-Studios
Summary: Hannah Potter thinks she is an ordinary girl - until she is rescued by an owl, taken to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, learns to play Quidditch and does battle in a deadly duel. The Reason: HANNAH POTTER IS A WITCH!
1. The Girl who Lived

-CHAPTER ONE-

The Girl who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mrs. Dursley was the Director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. She was a big, beefy woman with hardly any neck. Mr. Dursley was think and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as he spent so much of his time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small daughter called Dahlia and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discoverer it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mr. Potter was Mr. Dursley's brother, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mr. Dursley pretended he didn't have a brother, because his brother and his good-for-nothing wife were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursley shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursley knew that that the Potters had a small daughter too, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dahlia mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mrs. Dursley hummed as she picked out her most boring tie for work and Mr. Dursley gossiped away happily as he wrestled a screaming Dahlia into her highchair.

None of them noticed a tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half-past eight, Mrs. Dursley picked up her briefcase, pecked Mr. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dahlia goodbye but missed, because Dahlia was now having a tantrum and throwing her cereal at the walls. "Little cutie" chortled Mrs. Dursley as she left the house. She got into her car and backed out of number fours drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mrs. Dursley didn't realize what she had seen – then she jerked her head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could she have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mrs. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mrs. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, she watched the car in her mirror. It was now reading the sign at said _Privet Drive_ – no, _looking_ at the sign; cats couldn't read maps _or_ signs. Mr. Dursley gave herself a little shake and put the cat out of her mind. As she drove towards town she thought of nothing except a large order of drills she was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of her mind by something else. As she sat in the usual morning traffic jam, she couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mrs. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-ups you saw on young people! She supposed this was some stupid new fashion. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and her eyes fell on a huddle of weirdo's standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mrs. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that woman had to be older than she was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of her! But then it struck Mrs. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something … yes, that would be it. The traffic moved one and a few minutes late, Mrs. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, her mind back on drills.

Mrs. Dursley always sat with her back to the window in her office on the ninth floor. If she hadn't, she might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. _She_ didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night-time, Mrs. Dursley; however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. She yelled at five different people. She made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. She was in a very good mood until lunch-time, when she thought she'd stretch her legs and walk across the road to buy herself a bun from the baker's opposite.

She'd forgotten all about the people in the cloaks until she passed a group of them next to the baker's. She eyed them angrily as she passed. She didn't know why, but they made her uneasy. This lot was whispering excitedly, too, and she couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on her way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that she caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard…"

"… Yes, their daughter, Hannah…"

Mrs Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded her. She looked back at the whisperers as if she wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

She dashed back across the street, hurried up to her office, snapped at her secretarynot to disturb her, seized her telephone and had almost finished dialing her home number when she changed her mind. She put the receiver back down and stroked her many chins, thinking … no, she was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. She was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter called Hannah. Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure her niece _was_ called Hannah. She'd never even seen the girl. It might have been Helga. Or Hope. There was no point in worrying Mr. Dursley; he always got so upset at any mention of his brother. She didn't blame him – if _she'd _had a brother like that … but all the same, those people in cloaks …

She found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when she left the building, she was still so worried that she walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry" she grunted, as the tiny old woman stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mrs. Dursley realized that the woman was wearing a violet cloak. She didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, her face split into a wide smile and she said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear madam, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old woman hugged Mrs. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mrs. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. She had been hugged by a complete stranger. She also thought she had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. She was rattled. She hurried to her car and set off home, hoping she was imagining things, which she had never hoped before, because she didn't approve of imagination.

As she pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing she saw – and it didn't improve her mood – was the tabby cat she'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. She was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!"Said Mrs. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave her a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior, Mrs. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull herself together, she let herself into the house. She was still determined not to mention anything to her husband.

Mr. Dursley had a nice, normal day. He told her over dinner all about Mr. Next Door's problems with his son and how Dahlia had learnt a new word ("Shan't!"). Mrs. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dahlia had been put to bed, she went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns" The news reader allowed herself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now; over to Jean McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jean?"

"Well, Kim," said the weathergirl, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mrs. Dursley sat frozen in her armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper of the Potters …

Mr. Dursley came into the living-room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. She'd have to say something to him. She cleared her throat nervously. "Er – Peter dear – you haven't heard from your brother lately, have you?"

As she expected, Mr. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended he didn't have a brother.

"No," he said sharply, "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mrs. Dursley mumbled. "Owls … shooting stars … and there were a lot of funny looking people in town today …"

"_So?_"Snapped Mr. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought … maybe … it has something to do with … you know … _her lot_."

Mr. Dursley sipped his tea through pursed lips. Mrs. Dursley wondered whether she dared tell him she'd heard the name "Potter". She didn't dare. Instead she said, as casually as she could, "Their daughter – she'd be about Dahlia's age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," said Mr. Dursley stiffly.

"What's her name again? Heidi, isn't it?"

"Hannah. Nasty, common, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Dursley, her heart sinking horribly."Yes, I quite agree."

She didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mr. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mrs. Dursley crept over to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was she imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did … if it got out that they were related to a pair of- well, she didn't think she could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mr. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mrs. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in her head. Her last, comforting thought before she fell asleep was that even if the Potters _were_ involved, there was no reason for them to come near her and Mr. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what she and Peter thought about them and their kind … She couldn't see how she and Peter could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. She yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect _them_ …

How very wrong she was.

Mrs. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the car moved at all.

A woman appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought she'd popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this woman had ever been seen in Privet Drive. She was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of her hair, which was long enough to tuck into her belt. She was wearing robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. Her blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and her nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This woman was Anne Dumbledore.

Anne Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that she had just arrived in a street where everything from her name to her boots was unwelcome. She was busy rummaging in her cloak, looking for something. But she did seem to realize she was being watched, because she looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at her from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse her. She chuckled and muttered, "I should have known"

She had found what she was looking for in her inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. She flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. She clicked it again – the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times she clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching her. If anyone looked out of their window now, even the beady-eyed Mr. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside her cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where she sat down on the wall next to the cat. She didn't look at it, but after a moment she spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

She turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. Instead she was smiling at a rather severe-looking man who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. He, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. His black hair was tied into a ponytail. He looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here"

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, alright" he said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news" He jerked his head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls … shooting stars … Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Diane Diggle. She never had much sense"

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years"

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose out heads. People are downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

He threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping she was going to tell him something, but she didn't, so he went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to disappear at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose she really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A _what_?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you" said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though he didn't think this was the time for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone …"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible like yourself can call her by her name? All this "You-Know-Who" Nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to caller her by her proper name: _ Valdemert._" Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying "You-Know-Who". I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Valdemert's name"

"I know you haven't" said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know – oh, alright, _Valdemert_ – was frightened of"

"You flatter me" said Dumbledore calmly. "Valdemert had powers I will never have"

"Only because you're too – well – _noble_ to use them"

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much so much since Doctor Pomfrey told me he liked my new earmuffs"

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why she's disappeared? About what finally stopped her?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached he was most anxious to discuss, the real reason he had been waiting on a cold wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a man had he fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as he did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, he was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told him it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're _saying_," he pressed on, "is that last night Valdemert turned up in Godrics Hollow. She went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Luke and Jean potter are – are – that they're – _dead_"

Dumbledore bowed her head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Luke and Jean … I can't believe it … I didn't want to believe it … Oh, Goddess …"

Dumbledore reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "I know … I know …" she said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as he went on. "That's not all. They're saying she tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Hannah. But – she couldn't. She couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when she couldn't kill Hannah Potter, Valdemert's power somehow broke – and that's why she's gone"

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's – it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all she's done … all the people she's killed … she couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding … of all things to stop her … but how in the name of heaven did Hannah survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know"

Professor McGonagall pulled out a spotted lace handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as she took a golden watch from her pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but not numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because she put it back in her pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was she who you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Hannah to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

"You don't mean – you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to his feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this daughter – I saw her kicking her father all the way up the street, screaming for sweets! Hannah Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter"

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Hannah Potter day in future – there will be books written about Hannah – every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," Said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of her half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened his mouth, changed his mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" He eyed her cloak suddenly as though he thought she might be hiding Hannah underneath it.

"Hagrids bringing her."

"You think it – _wise_ – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying her heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend she's not careless. She does tend to – what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the woman sitting astride it. She was almost twice as tall as a normal woman and at least five times as wide. She looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_ – long tanglesof bushy black hair hid most of her top half of he head, she had hands the size of dustbins lids and her feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In her vast arms she was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," aid Dumbledore, Sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, ma'am" said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as she spoke. "Young Sarah Black lent it me. I've got her, ma'am"

"No problems, were there?"

"No, ma'am – house was almost destroyed but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously-shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever"

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – Give her here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Hannah in her arms and turned towards the Dursley's house.

"Could I – could I say goodbye to her, ma'am?" asked Hagrid.

She bent her great shaggy head over Hannah and gave her a kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying her face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Luke and Jean dead – an' poor little Hannah off ter live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. She laid Hannah gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of her cloak, tucked it inside Hannah's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations"

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'll be takin' Sarah her bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, ma'am"

Wiping her streaming eyes on her jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung herself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life, with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to him. Professor McGonagall blew his nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner she stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. She clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and she could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. She could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Hannah," she murmured. She turned on her heel and with a swish of her cloak she was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you'd expect astonishing things to happen. Hannah Potter rolled over inside her blanket without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mr. Dursley's scream as he opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dahlia … She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Hannah Potter – The Girl who Lived!"


	2. The Vanishing Glass

_A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Only the first names that had been changed. Luke and Jean decided to use Jean's last name as the Dursley's hate them._

-CHAPTER TWO-

The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mrs Dursley had seen the fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats – but Dahlia Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large, blonde girl riding her first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with her mother, being hugged and kissed by her father. The room held no sign at all that another girl lived in the house too.

Yet Hannah Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Uncle Peter was awake and it was his shrill voice which made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Hanna awoke with a start. Her uncle rapped on the door again.

"Up!" he screeched. Hannah heard him walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. She rolled on to her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. She had a funny she'd had the same dream before.

Her uncle was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" he demanded.

"Nearly," said Hannah.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let the bacon burn. I want everything perfect on Dahlia's birthday"

Hannah groaned.

"What did you say?" her uncle snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing ..."

Dahlia's birthday – how could she have forgotten? Hannah got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Hannah was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dahlia's birthday presents. It looked as though Dahlia ha got the new computer she wanted, not to mention the second television and racing bike. Exactly why Dahlia wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Hannah, as Dahlia was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dahlia's favourite punch-bag was Hannah, but she couldn't often catch her. Hannah didn't look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Hannah had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dahlia's and Dahlia was about four times bigger that she was. Hannah had a thin face, knobbly knees, long black hair and almond shaped bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with Sellotape because of all the times Dahlia had punched her on the nose. The only thing Hannah liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember and the first question she could ever remember asking her Uncle Peter was how she got it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," he had said. "And don't ask questions"

_Don't ask questions –_ that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Aunt Violet entered the kitchen as Hannah was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" she barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Aunt Violet looked over the top of her magazine and shouted that Hannah needed a haircut. Hannah must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way – all over the place.

Hannah was frying eggs by the time Dahlia arrived in the kitchen with her father. Dahlia looked a lot like Aunt Violet. She had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blonde hair that lay smoothly on her thick, fat head. Uncle Peter often said that Dahlia looked like a baby angel – Hannah often said that Dahlia looked like a pig in a wig.

Hannah put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dahlia, meanwhile, was counting her presents. Her face fell.

"Thirty-six," she said, looking up at her mother and father. "That's two less than last year"

"Darling, you haven't counted Uncle Marv's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy"

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dahlia, going red in the face. Hannah, who could see a huge Dahlia tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dahlia turned the table over.

Uncle Peter obviously scented danger too, because he said quickly, "And we'll buy you _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that popkin? _Two_ more presents, Is that all right?"

Dahlia thought about it for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally she said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty ..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums" said Uncle Peter.

"Oh." Dahlia sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Aunt Violet chuckled.

"Little cutie wants her moneys worth, just like her mother. 'Atta girl, Dahlia!" She ruffled Dahlia's hair, who protested.

At that moment that telephone rang and Uncle Peter went to answer it while Hannah and Aunt Violet watched Dahlia unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. She was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Uncle Peter came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Violet," he said. "Mr Figg's broken his leg. He can't take her," He jerked his head in Hannah's direction.

Dahlia's mouth fell open in horror but Hannah's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dahlia's birthday her parents took her and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Hannah was left behind with Mr Figg, a mad old man who lived two streets away. Hannah hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mr Figg made him look at photographs of all the cat's he's ever owned.

"Now what?" said Uncle Peter, looking furiously at Hannah as though she'd planned this. Hannah knew she ought to feel sorry that Mr Figg had broken his leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mrs Paws and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marv," Aunt Violet suggested.

"Don't be silly, Violet, he hates the girl"

The Dursleys often spoke about Hannah like this, as though she wasn't there – or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, you friend – Ivan?"

"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Uncle Peter.

"You could just leave me here," Hannah put in hopefully (she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dahlia's computer).

Uncle Peter looked as though he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" he snarled.

"I won't blow up the house" said Hannah, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Uncle Peter slowly, "... and leaver her in the car ..."

"That car's new; she's not sitting in it alone ..."

Dahlia began to cry loudly. In fact, she wasn't really crying, it had been years since she'd really cried, but she knew that if she screwed up her face and wailed, her father would giver her anything she wanted.

"Dahlia, honey, don't cry, Daddy won't let her spoil your special day!" he cried, flinging his arms around her.

"I ... don't ... want... him ... t-t-to come!" Dahlia yelled between huge pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!" She shot Hannah a nasty grin through the gap in her fathers arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, Good Lordress **(A.N: Since everything is reversed gendered, even God is, who is called Goddess in m GR stories. I apologise if that offends anyone)**, they're here!" said Uncle Peter frantically – and a moment later, Dahlia's best friend, Petunia Polkiss, walked in with her father. Petunia was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held peoples arms behind their backs while Dahlia hit them. Dahlia stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Hannah, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Petunia and Dahlia, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they left, Aunt Violet had taken Hannah aside.

"I'm warning you," she said, putting her large purple face right up close to Hannah's, "I'm warning you now, girl – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas"

"I'm not going to do anything" said Hannah, "honestly ..."

But Aunt Violet didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Hannah and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Uncle Peter, tired of Hannah coming back from the barber's looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short she was almost bald except for the fringe, which he left 'to hide that horrible scar'. Dahlia had laughed herself silly at Hannah, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and sellotaped glasses. Next morning, however, she had got up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Uncle Peter had sheared it off. She ahd been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she _couldm't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Uncle Peter had been trying to force her into a revolting old jumper of Dahlia's (Brown with orange bobbles). The harder he tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Hannah. Uncle Peter had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Hannah wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dahlia's gang had been chasing her as usual when, much to Hannah's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Hannah' headmaster telling them Hannah had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at Aunt Violet through the locked door of her cupboard) was to jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Hannah supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dahlia and Petunia to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard or Mr Figg's cabbage-smelling living-room.

While she drove, Aunt Violet complained to Uncle Peter. She liked to complain about things: people at work, Hannah, the council, Hannah, the bank and Hannah were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," she said, as a motorbike overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorbike," said Hannah, remembering suddenly. "It was flying"

Aunt Violet nearly crashed into the car in front. She turned right around in her seat and yelled at Hannah, her face like a gigantic beetroot, "MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"

Dahlia and Petunia sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Hannah. "It was only a dream."

But she wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursley hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon – they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dahlia and Petunia large strawberry ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling man in the van had asked Hannah what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice lolly. It wasn't bad either, Hannah thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head and looking remarkably like Dahlia, except that it wasn't blond.

Hannah had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dahlia and Petunia, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunch-time, wouldn't fall back on their favourite hobby of hitter her. They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dahlia had a tantrum because her Knickerbocker glory wasn't big enough, Aunt Violet bought her another one and Hannah was allowed to finish the first.

Hannah felt, afterwards, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dahlia and Petunia wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dahlia quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Aunt Violet's car and crushed it unto a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dahlia stood with her nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," she whined to her mother. Aunt Violet tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't move.

"Do it again," Dahlia ordered. Aunt Violet rapped the glass smartly with her knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dahlia moaned. She shuffled away.

Hannah moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard for a bedroom, where the only visitor was Uncle Peter hammering on the door to wake you up – at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Hannah's.

_It winked._

Hannah stared. Then she looked around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked too.

The snake jerked it's head towards Aunt Violet and Dahlia, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Hannah a look that said quite plainly: _"I get that all the time"_

"I know," Hannah murmered through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying"

The snaked nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Hannah asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Hannah peered at it.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Hanna read on: _This specimen was bred in the zoo._ "Oh, I see – so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Hannah made them both jump. "DAHLIA! MRS DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE _WHAT IT'S GOING!"

Dahlia came waddling towards them as fast as possible.

"Out of the way, you" she said, punching Hannah in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Hannah fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Petunia and Dahlia were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Hannah sat up and gasped; the glass in front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out on to the floor – people throughout the reptile house screamed and stared running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Hannah could have sword a low, hissing oice said, "Brazil, here I come ... Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"Bu the glass," she kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director herself made Uncle Peter a cup f strong sweet tea while she apologised over nad over again. Petunia and Dahlia could only gibber. As far as Hannah had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Aunt Violet's car, Dahlia was telling them how it had nearly bitten off her leg, while Petunia was swearing it had tried to squeeze her to death. But worst of all, for Hannah at least, was Petunia calming down enough to say, "Hannah was talking to it, weren't you, Hannah?"

Aunt Violet waited until Petunia was safely out of the house before starting on Hannah. She was so angry she could hardly speak. She managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals" before she collapsed into a chair and Uncle Peter had o run and get her a large brandy.

Hannah lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Hannah had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers on the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny woman in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Uncle Peter and Dahlia. After asking Hannah furiously if she knew the woman, Uncle Peter had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old man dressed in all green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A stringy-haired old woman in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Hannah tried to get a closer look.

At school, Hannah had no one. Everybody knew that Dahlia's gang hated that odd Hannah Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dahlia's gang.


	3. The Letter's from No One

-CHAPTER THREE-

The Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Hannah her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dahlia had already broken her new cine-camera, crashed her remote control aeroplane and, first time on her racing bike, knocked down old Mr Figg as he crossed Privet Drive on his crutches.

Hannah was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dahlia's gang, who visited the house every single day, Petunia, Dianne, Molly and Ginevra were all big and stupid, but as Dahlia was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, she was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dahlia's favourite sport: Hannah Hunting. This is why Hannah spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holiday, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dahlia. Dahlia had a place at Aunt Violets old school, Smeltings. Petunia Polkiss was going there too. Hannah, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dahlia thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," she told Hannah, "Want to go upstairs and practise?"

"No thanks," said Hannah. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might be sick." Then she ran, before Dahlia could work out what she'd said.

One day in July, Uncle Peter took Dahlia to London to buy her Smeltings uniform leaving Hannah at Mr Figgs. Mr Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out he'd broken his leg tripping over one of his cats and he didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. He let Hannah watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though he'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dahlia paraded around the living-room for the family in her brand-new uniform. Smeltings girls wore white shirts, orange skirts and bureaus on their heads. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As she looked at Dahlia in her new skirt and bureau, Aunt Violet said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of her life. Uncle Peter burst into tears and said he couldn't believe it was his little Dahlia, she looked so handsome and grownup. Hannah didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen next morning when Hannah went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What's this?" she asked Uncle Peter. His lips tightened as they always did if she dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," he said.

Hannah looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't realise it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Uncle Peter. "I'm dying some of Dahlia's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Hannah seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High – like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dahlia and Aunt Violet came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Hannah's new uniform. Aunt Violet opened her magazine as usual and Dahlia banged her Smeltings stick, which she carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the letter-box and the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post Dahlia" said Aunt Violet from behind her magazine.

"Make Hannah get it"

"Get the post Hannah:

"Make Dahlia get it"

"Poke her with your Smeltings stick Dahlia"

Hannah dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Violets brother Marv, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and –_ a letter for Hannah_.

Hannah picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives – she didn't belong to the library so she'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

_Miss H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, her hands trembling, Hannah saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Aunt Violet from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" She chuckled at her own joke.

Hannah went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Aunt Violet the bill and postcard, sat down and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Aunt Violet ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.

"Marv's ill," she informed Uncle Peter. "Ate a funny whelk ..."

"Mom!" said Dahlia suddenly. "Mom, Hannah's got something!"

Hannah was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Aunt Violet.

"That's _mine_!" said Hannah, trying to snatch it back.

Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Aunt Violet, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. Her face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the greyish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Peter!" she gasped.

Dahlia tried to grab the letter to read it but Aunt Violet held it high out of her reach. Uncle Peter took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though he might faint. He clutched his throat and made a choking noise.

"Violet! Oh my goodness – Violet!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have gotten that Hannah and Dahlia were still in the room. Dahlia wasn't used to being ignored. She gave her mother a sharp tap on the head with her Smeltings stick.

"I want to read that letter" she said loudly.

"_I_ want to read it" said Hannah furiously, "as it's _mine_"

"Get out, both of you" croaked Aunt Violet, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Hannah didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" She shouted.

"Let _me_ see it!" demanded Dahlia.

"OUT!" roared Aunt Violet, and she took both Hannah and Dahlia by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Hannah and Dahlia promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dahlia won, so Hannah, her glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between the door and floor.

"Violet" Uncle Peter was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address – how could they possible know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching – spying – might be following us" muttered Aunt Violet wildly.

"But what should we do, Violet? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want..."

Hannah could see Aunt Violet's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," she said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer ... yes, that's best ... we don't do anything ..."

"But..."

"I'm not having another one, Peter! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stomp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when she got back from work, Aunt Violet did something she'd never done before; she visited Hannah in her cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Hannah, the moment Aunt Violet had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Aunt Violet shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was _not_ a mistake," said Hannah angrily. "It had my cupboard on it"

"SILENCE!" Yelled Aunt Violet, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. She took a few deep breaths and then forced her face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er – yes, Hannah – about this cupboard. Your uncle and I have been thinking ... you're really getting a bit big for it ... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dahlia's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Hannah.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her aunt. "Take this stuff upstairs, now"

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Aunt Violet and Uncle Peter, one for visitors (usually Aunt Violets brother, Marv), one where Dahlia slept and one where Dahlia kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into her first bedroom. It only took Hannah one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old cine-camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dahlia had once driven over next door's dog; in the corner was Dahlia's first-ever television set, which she'd put her though when her favourite programme had been cancelled; there was a large bird-cage which had once held a parrot that Dahlia swapped at school for a real air-rifle **(A/N: Who the hell brings an Air-Rifle to school? O.o)**, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dahlia sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dahlia bawling at her father: "I don't _want_ her in there ... I _need_ that room ... make her get out ..."

Hannah sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday she'd have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than be up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dahlia was in shock. She'd screamed, whacked her mother with her Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked her father and thrown her tortoise through the greenhouse window and she still didn't have her room back. Hannah was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in the hall. Aunt Violet and Uncle Peter kept looking at each other darkly.

When the post arrived, Aunt Violet, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Hannah, made Dahlia go and get it. They heard her banging things with her Smeltings stick all the way down the hall. The she shouted, "There's another one! _Miss H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –"_

With a strangled cry, Aunt Violet leapt from her seat and ran down the hall, Hannah right behind her. Aunt Violet had to wrestle Dahlia to the ground to get the letter from her, which was made difficult by the fact that Hannah had grabbed Aunt Violet around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smeltings Stick, Aunt Violet straightened up, gasping for breath, with Hannah's letter clutched in her hand.

"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," she wheezed at Hannah, "Dahlia – go – just go"

Hannah walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Hannah turned it off quickly and dressed silently. She mustn't wake the Dursleys. She stole downstairs without turning on any lights.

She was going to going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall towards the front door –

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Hannah leapt into the air – she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat – something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to her horror Hannah realised that the big squashy something had been her aunts face. Aunt Violet had been lying at the foot of the door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Hannah didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do. She shouted at Hannah for about half an hour and then told her to go and make a cup of tea. Hannah shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the post had arrived, right into Aunt Violet's lap. Hannah could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"I want –" she began, but Aunt Violet was tearing the letters into pieces before her eyes.

Aunt Violet didn't go to work that day. She stayed at home and nailed up the letter-box.

"See," she explained to Uncle Peter through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't _deliver_ them they'll just give up"

"I'm not sure that'll work, Violet"

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Peter, they're not like you and me," said Aunt Violet, trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruitcake Uncle Peter had just brought her.

On Friday, no fewer than twelve letters arrived for Hannah. As they couldn't go through the letter-box they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs toilet.

Aunt Violet stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, she got a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. She hummed 'Tiptoe through the Tulips' as she worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Hannah found them their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milk-man had handed Uncle Peter through the living-room window. While Aunt Violet made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Uncle Peter shredded the letters in his food mixer.

"Who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" Dahlia asked Hannah in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Aunt Violet sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sunday's," she reminded them happily as she spread marmalade on her magazine, "no damn letters today..."

Something came whizzing down the chimney as she spoke and caught her sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Hannah leapt into the air trying to catch one-

"Out! OUT!"

Aunt Violet seized Hannah around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Uncle Peter and Dahlia had run out with their arms over their faces, Aunt Violet slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it" said Aunt Violet, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of her hair at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to go. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

She looked so dangerous with the tuft of hair missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding towards the motorway. Dahlia was sniffling in the back seat; her mother had hit her round the head for holding them up while she tried to pack her television, video and computer in her sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Uncle Peter didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Aunt Violet would take a sharp turning and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off ... shake 'em off" she would mutter whenever she did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dahlia was howling. She'd never had such a bad day in her life. She was hungry, she'd missed five television programmes she'd wanted to see and she'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on her computer.

Aunt Violet stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dahlia and Hannah shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dahlia snored but Hannah stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering...

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Miss H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

He held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

_Miss H. Potter  
Room 17  
Railview Hotel  
Cokeworth_

Hannah made a grab for the letter but Aunt Violet knocked her hand out of the way. The man stared.

"I'll take them" said Aunt Violet, standing up quickly and following him from the dining-room.

Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Uncle Peter suggested timidly, hours later, but Aunt Violet didn't seem to hear him. Exactly what she was looking for, none of them knew. She drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook her head, got back in the car and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge and at the top of a multi-storey car park.

"Mommy's gone mad, hasn't she?" Dahlia asked Uncle Peter dully late that afternoon. Aunt Violet had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dahlia snivelled.

"It's Monday," she told her father. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television._"

Monday. This reminded Hannah of something. If it _was_ Monday – and you could usually count on Dahlia to know the days of the week, because of television – then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Hannah's eleventh birthday. Of Course, her birthdays were never exactly fun – last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat-hanger and a pair of Aunt Violet's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Aunt Violet was back and she was smiling. She was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Uncle Peter when he asked what she'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" she said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Aunt Violet was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out to sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Aunt Violet gleefully, clapping her hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowing boat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Aunt Violet, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea sprayed and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Aunt Violet, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Aunt Violets rations turned out to be a packet of crisps each and four bananas. She tried to start a fire but the empty crisp packets just smoked and shrivelled up.

"Could do with some of those letters, eh?" she said cheerfully.

She was in a very good mood. Obviously she thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver post. Hannah privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Uncle Peter found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dahlia on the moth-eaten. He and Aunt Violet went off to the lumpy bed next door and Hannah was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Hannah couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dahlia's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dahlia's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on her fat wrist, told Hannah she'd be eleven in ten minutes. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter-writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Hannah heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds ... twenty ... ten – nine – maybe she'd wake Dahlia up, just to annoy her – three – two – one –

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Hannah sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. The Keeper of the Keys

-CHAPTER FOUR-

The Keeper of the Keys

BOOM. They knocked again. Dahlia jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" she said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Aunt Violet came skidding into the room. She was holding a rifle in her hands – now they knew what had been in the long, thin package she had brought with them.

"Who's there?" she shouted. "I warn you – I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then –

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a woman was standing in the doorway. Her face almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair, but you could make out her eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed her way into the hut, stooping so that her head just brushed the ceiling. She bent down, picked up the door and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. She turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey ..."

She strode over to the sofa where Dahlia sat frozen in fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dahlia squeaked and ran to hide behind her father, who was crouching, terrified, behind Aunt Violet.

"An' here's Hannah!" said the giant.

Hannah looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that her face was twisted in a kind smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer mum, but yeh've got yer dad's eyes."

Aunt Violet made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, ma'am!" she said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant. She reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Aunt Violet's hands, bent it into a knot as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Aunt Violet made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway – Hannah," said the giant, turning her back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat for yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right"

From an inside pocket of her black overcoat she pulled a slightly squashed box. Hannah opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Hannah_ written on it in green icing.

Hannah looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, and what she said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Ruby Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts"

She held out an enormous hand and shook Hannah's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" she said, rubbing her hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind"

Her eyes fell on the empty grate with the shrivelled crisps packets in it and she snorted. She bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what she was going but when she drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Hannah felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under her weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of her coat: a copper kettle, a squashy packet of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs and a bottle of some amber liquid which she took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as she slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dahlia fidgeted a little. Aunt Violet said sharply, "Don't touch anything she gives you, Dahlia"

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a daughter don' need fattenin' any more, Dursley, don' worry"

She passed the sausages to Hannah, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are"

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Call me Hagrid," she said, "everyone does. An' like I told yer, I'm keeper of keys at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er – no," said Hannah.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Hannah said quickly.

"_Sorry?_" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?"

"All what?" asked Hannah.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

She had leapt to her feet. In her anger she seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," she growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl – this girl! – knows nothin' abou' – about ANYTHING?"

Hannah thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and her marks weren't bad.

"I know _some_ things," she said. "I can, you know, do maths and stuff."

But Hagrid waved her hand and said, "About _our_ world, I mean. _Your_ world. _My_ world. _Yer parent's world._"

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if she was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" she boomed.

Aunt Violet, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like 'Mimblewimble'. Hagrid stared wildly at Hannah.

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," she said. "I mean, they're _famous. You're_ famous."

"What? My – my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know ... yeh don' know ..." Hagrid ran her fingers through her hair, fixing Hannah with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yer _are_?" she said finally.

Aunt Violet suddenly found her voice.

"Stop!" she commanded. "Stop right there, ma'am! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver woman than Violet Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave her; when Hagrid spoke, her every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept _what_ from me?" said Hannah eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Yelled Aunt Violet in panic.

Uncle Peter gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Hannah – yer a witch"

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling could be heard.

"I'm a _what_?" gasped Hannah.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon its abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Hannah stretched out her hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald ink to _Miss H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. _She pulled out the letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmistress: Anne Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Witches)_

_Dear Miss Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment,  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by not later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Machintosh McGonagall  
Deputy Headmaster_

Questions exploded inside Hannah's head like fireworks and she couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes she stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to her forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside her overcoat she pulled out an owl - a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl, a long quill and a roll of parchment. With her tongue between her teeth she scribbled a note which Hannah could read upside down:

_Dear Miss. Dumbledore  
Given Hannah her letter. Taking her to buy her things tomorrow. Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.  
Hagrid._

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door and threw the owl out into the storm. Then she came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Hannah realised her mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Aunt Violet, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going," she said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her," she said.

"A what?" said Hannah, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You knew?" said Hannah. "You knew I'm a - a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Uncle Peter suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted brother being what he was? Oh, he got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with his pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw him for what he was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Luke this and Luke that, they were proud of having a wizard in the family!"

He stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed he had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then he met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, he went and got himself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Hannah had gone very white. As soon as she found her voice she said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner.

"How could a car crash kill Luke an' Jamie Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Hannah Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. She looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," she said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Hannah, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh - but someone's gotta - yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

She threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh - mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

She sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with - with a person called - but it's incredible yeh don't know her name, everyone in our world knows -"

"Who? "

"Well - I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Hannah, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this witch who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. Her name was..." Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Hannah suggested.

"Nah -can't spell it. All right - Valdemert." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this - this witch, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' her power, 'cause she was gettin'  
herself power, all right. Dark days, Hannah. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. She was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to her - an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on her side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the  
Dark Side.

"Maybe she thought she could persuade 'em... maybe she just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, she turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. She came ter yer house an' - an' -" Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew her nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," she said. "But it's that sad - knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find - anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then - an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing - she tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe she just liked killin' by then. But she couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh - took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even - but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Hannah. No one ever lived after  
she decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' she'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age - the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts - an' you was only a baby, an' you lived." Something very painful was going on in Hannah's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before – and she remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Aunt Violet. Hannah jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Aunt Violet certainly seemed to have got back her courage. She was glaring at Hagrid and her fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," she snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured - and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion - asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types - just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end -"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside her coat. Pointing this at Aunt Violet like a sword, she said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you - one more word... "

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a giant, Aunt Violet's courage failed again; she flattened herself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Hannah, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Val-, sorry - I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Hannah. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night she tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... she was gettin' more an' more powerful - why'd she go?

"Some say she died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if she had enough human left in her to die. Some say she's still out there, bidin' her time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on her side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if she was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon she's still out there somewhere but lost her powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished her, Hannah. There was somethin' goin' on that night she hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - but somethin' about you stumped her, all right."

Hagrid looked at Hannah with warmth and respect blazing in her eyes, but Hannah, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? She'd spent her life being clouted by Dahlia, and bullied by Uncle Peter and  
Aunt Violet; if she was really a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dahlia had always been able to kick her around like a football?

"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch."

To her surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Hannah looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she, Hannah, had been upset or angry... chased by Dahlia's gang, she had somehow found herself out of their reach... dreading going  
to school with that ridiculous haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back... and the very last time Dahlia had hit him, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on her?

Hannah looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Hannah Potter, not a witch - you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Aunt Violet wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you she's not going?" she hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish - spell books and wands and -"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," growled Hagrid. "Stop Luke an' Jamie Potter' s daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she  
won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmistress Hogwarts ever had Anne Dumbled-"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL To TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Aunt Violet.

But she had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized her umbrella and whirled it over her head, "NEVER," she thundered, "- INSULT- ANNE- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!" She brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dahlia - there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dahlia was dancing on the spot with her hands clasped over her fat bottom, howling in pain. When she turned her back on them, Hannah saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in her trousers.

Aunt Violet roared. Pulling Uncle Peter and Dudley into the other room, she cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them. Hagrid looked down at her umbrella and stroked her chin.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," she said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn her into a pig, but I suppose she was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

She cast a sideways look at Hannah under her bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," she said. "I'm - er - not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff - one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Hannah.

"Oh, well - I was at Hogwarts meself but I - er - got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great woman, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

She took off her thick black coat and threw it to Hannah.

"You can kip under that," she said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. Diagon Alley

-CHAPTER FIVE-

The Keeper of the Keys

Hannah woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," she told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Uncle Peter knocking on the door, Hannah thought, her heart sinking. But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Hannah mumbled, "I'm getting up."

She sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid herself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Hannah scrambled to her feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her.

She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to  
attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Hannah tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Hannah loudly. "There's an owl"

"Pay her," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"She wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets - bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Hannah pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give her five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Hannah counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out her leg so Hannah could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then she flew off through the open window. Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be Off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Hannah was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon inside her had got a puncture.

"Um - Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on her huge boots.

"I haven't got any money - and you heard Aunt Violet last night ... she won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching her head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed -"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold - an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Hannah dropped the bit of sausage she was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah - so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Hannah. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe - 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew herself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer her. Fetchin' you, gettin' things from Gringotts - knows she can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Hannah followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Aunt Violet had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Hannah asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah - but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine her flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Hannah another of her sideways looks. "If I was ter - er - speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Hannah, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Hannah asked.

"Spells - enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding her newspaper as she spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way - Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter  
get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Hannah sat and thought about this while Hagrid read her newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Hannah had learned from Aunt Violet that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Hannah asked, before she could stop herself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, 0 ' course, but she'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Caitlin Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So she pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Hannah, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up her newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Hannah couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, she kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Hannah? Things these Muggles  
dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Hannah, panting a bit as she ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid - here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as she called it, gave the bills to Hannah so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Hannah?" she asked as she counted stitches. Hannah took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Hannah unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before, and read: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:  
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand,  
cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set  
glass or crystal phials  
telescope set  
brass scales  
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS 

"Can we buy all this in London?" Hannah wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where she was going, she was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. She got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," she said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Hannah had to do was keep close behind her. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had  
cooked up? If Hannah hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Hannah couldn't help trusting her.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Hannah wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Hannah had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered her inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old men were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little woman in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite stringy-haired and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at her, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tam, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping her great hand on Hannah's shoulder and making Hannah's knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Hannah, "is this - can this be -?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Hannah Potter... what an honor."

She hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Hannah and seized her  
hand, tears in her eyes.

"Welcome back, Miss. Potter, welcome back."

Hannah didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old man with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Hannah found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Danny Crockford, Miss. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Miss. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Diane Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Hannah, as Diane Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"She remembers!" cried Diane Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!" Hannah shook hands again and again - Danny Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young woman made her way forward, very nervously. One of her eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Hannah's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" She laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." She looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Hannah to herself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make herself heard over the babble.

"Must get on - lots ter buy. Come on, Hannah."

Danny Crockford shook Hannah's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Hannah.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh - mind you, she's usually tremblin'."

"Is she always that nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor gal. Brilliant mind. She was fine while she was studyin' outta books but then she took a year off ter get some firsthand experience... They say she met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of her own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Hannah's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across," she muttered. "Right, stand back, Hannah."

She tapped the wall three times with the point of her umbrella.

The brick she had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

She grinned at Hannah's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Hannah looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. _Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible_, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first." 

Hannah wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump man outside an Apothecary was shaking his head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying _Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy_. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Hannah heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Hannah had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

"Gringotts," said Hagrid. They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was –

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Hannah. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Hannah noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Hannah made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss. Hannah Potter's safe."

"You have her key, Ma'am?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and she started emptying her pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Hannah watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out her chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have Someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside her pockets, she and Hannah followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.  
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Hannah, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty - and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Hannah tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Hannah's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Hannah called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

She did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop her knees from trembling. Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Hannah gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Hannah's - it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Hannah cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London.  
Hagrid helped Hannah pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," she explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right,that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." She turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Hannah leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck. Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Hannah was sure, and she leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least - but at first she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside her coat. Hannah longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Hannah didn't know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole  
life - more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Listen, Hannah, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them  
Gringotts carts." She did still look a bit sick, so Hannah entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, clear?" she said, when Hannah started to speak. "Got the lot here - another young lady being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a girl with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up her long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Hannah on a stool next to her & slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the girl, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Hannah.

"My mother's next door buying my books and father's up the street looking at wands," said the girl. She had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully mother into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Hannah was strongly reminded of Dahlia.

"Have you got your own broom?" the girl went on.

"No," said Hannah.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Hannah said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do - Mother says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Hannah, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Hannah, wishing she could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that woman!" said the girl suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Hannah and pointing at two large ice creams to show she couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Hannah, pleased to know something the girl didn't."She works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the girl, "I've heard of her. She's a sort of servant, isn't she?"

"She's the gamekeeper," said Hannah. She was liking the girl less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard she's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then she gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to her bed."

"I think she's brilliant," said Hannah coldly.

"Do you?" said the girl, with a slight sneer. "Why is she with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. She didn't feel much like going into the matter with this girl.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Hannah could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Hannah, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the girl, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling girl.

Hannah was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Hannah lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Hannah cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, she said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Hannah, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know - not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Hannah. She told Hagrid about the pale girl in Madam Malkin's.  
"-and she said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If she'd known who yeh were - she's grown up knowin' yer name if her parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does she know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles - look at yer dad! Look what he had fer a brother!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like - like soccer in the Muggle world - everyone follows Quidditch - played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls - sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but -"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Hannah gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Val-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Hannah's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dahlia, who never read anything, would have been wild to get her hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Hannah away from _Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dahlia."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level." Hagrid wouldn't let Hannah buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing  
potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined  
the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Hannah, Hannah herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Hannah felt herself go red.

"You don't have to -"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Hannah now carried a large cage that held a handsome snowy owl, fast asleep with his head under his wing. She couldn't stop stammering her thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait.

Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Hannah jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and she got quickly off the spindly chair. An old woman was standing before them, her wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Hannah awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the woman. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Hannah Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your father's eyes. It seems only yesterday he was in here himself, buying his first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Ms. Ollivander moved closer to Hannah. Hannah wished she would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your mother, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your mother favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Ms. Ollivander had come so close that she and Hannah were almost nose to nose. Hannah could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Ms. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Hannah's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," she said softly.

"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

She shook her head and then, to Hannah's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Ruby! Ruby Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, ma'am, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Ms. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling her feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," she added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Ms. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, ma'am," said Hagrid quickly. Hannah noticed she gripped her pink umbrella very tightly as she spoke.

"Hmmm," said Ms. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now - Miss. Potter. Let me see."

She pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of her pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Hannah.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." She measured Hannah from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As she measured, she said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix  
tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Hannah suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Ms. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," she said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Hannah took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Ms. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -" Hannah tried - but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Ms. Ollivander.  
"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Hannah tried. And tried. She had no idea what Ms. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ms. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier she seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Hannah took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and  
clapped and Ms. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..." She put Hannah's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious.."

"Sorry," said Hannah, "but what's curious?"

Ms. Ollivander fixed Hannah with her pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

Hannah swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter... After all, She-  
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Hannah shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Ms. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Ms. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Hannah and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Hanah didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Hannah's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Hannah only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," she said.

She bought Hannah a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Hannah kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow. "You all right, Hannah? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Hannah wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of her life - and yet - she chewed her hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Ms. Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Val-, sorry - I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild hair and eyebrows she wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Hannah. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did - still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Hannah on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," she said. "First o' September - King's Cross - it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, he'll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Hannah."

The train pulled out of the station. Hannah wanted to watch Hagrid until she was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	6. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three

_NOTE: In this story a lot of things are reversed, for example: In marriage, instead of the females taking the males name, it is the other way around. So Hannah is still Potter :D_

-CHAPTER SIX-

The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters

Hannah's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dahlia was now so scared of Hannah she wouldn't stay in the same room, while Uncle Peter and Aunt Violet didn't shut Hannah in her cupboard, force her to do anything, or shout at her — in fact, they didn't speak to her at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Hannah in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Hannah kept to her room, with her new owl for company. She had decided to call him Talnor, a name she had found in _A History of Magic_. Her school books were very interesting. She lay on her bed reading late into the night, Talnor swooping in and out of the open window as he pleased. It was lucky that Uncle Peter didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Talnor kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before she went to sleep, Hannah ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August she thought she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so she went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. She cleared her throat to let them know she was there, and Dahlia screamed and ran from the room.

"Er — Aunt Violet?" Aunt Violet grunted to show she was listening.

"Er — I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts." Aunt Violet grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Hannah supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you." She was about to go back upstairs when Aunt Violet actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a witch's school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Hannah didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Hannah, realizing this for the first time. She pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read.

Her aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Aunt Violet. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Aunt Violet, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Hannah asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dahlia to the hospital," growled Aunt Violet. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Hannah woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on her jeans because she didn't want to walk into the station in her witch's robes — she'd change on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything she needed, saw that Talnor was shut safely in his cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Hannah's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Uncle Peter had talked Dahlia into sitting next to Hannah, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Aunt Violet dumped Hannah's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Hannah thought this was strangely kind until Aunt Violet stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on her face.

"Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

She was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Aunt Violet with an even nastier smile. She left without another word. Hannah turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Hannah's mouth went rather dry. What on earth was she going to do? She was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Talnor. She'd have to ask someone.

She stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Hannah couldn't even tell her what part of the country it was in, she started to get annoyed, as though Hannah was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Hannah asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Hannah was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk she could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell her something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. She wondered if she should get out her wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind him and she caught a few words of what they were saying.

"— packed with Muggles, of course —"

Hannah swung round. The speaker was a plump man who was talking to four girls, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Hannah's in front of him — and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Hannah pushed her cart after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the girl's father.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small boy, also red-headed, who was holding his hand, "Dad, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, James, now be quiet. All right, Petunia, you go first."

What looked like the oldest girl marched toward platforms nine and ten. Hannah watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it — but just as the girl reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the girl had vanished.

"Frieda, you next," the plump man said.

"I'm not Frieda, I'm Ginny," said the girl. "Honestly, man, you call yourself our father? Can't you tell I'm Ginny?"

"Sorry, Ginny, dear."

"Only joking, I am Frieda," said the girl, and off she went. Her twin called after her to hurry up, and she must have done so, because a second later, she had gone — but how had she done it?

Now the third sister was walking briskly toward the barrier she was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, she wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Hannah said to the plump man.

"Hello," he said. "First time at Hogwarts? Renee's new, too."

He pointed at the last and youngest of his daughters. She was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Hannah. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"

"How to get onto the platform?" he said kindly, and Hannah nodded.

"Not to worry," he said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Renee."

"Er — okay," said Hannah.

She pushed her trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

She started to walk toward it. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Hannah walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she'd be in trouble — leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy run — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — she wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — she was a foot away — she closed her eyes ready for the crash —

It didn't come… she kept on running… she opened her eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. Hannah looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, She had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Hannah pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a round-faced girl who was saying, "Grandpa, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Natalia," she heard the old man sigh.

A girl with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The girl lifted the lid of a box in her arms, and the people around her shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Hannah pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She put Talnor inside first and then started to shove and heave her trunk toward the train door. She tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice dhe dropped it painfully on her foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Hannah panted.

"Oy, Frieda! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Hannah's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Hannah, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Hannah's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you —?"

"She is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" she added to Hannah.

"What?" said Hannah.

"Hannah Potter." chorused the twins

"Oh, her," said Hannah. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two girls gawked at her, and Hannah felt herself turning red. Then, to her relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Frieda? Ginny? Are you there?"

"Coming, Dad."

With a last look at Hannah, the twins hopped off the train.

Hannah sat down next to the window where, half hidden, she could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their father had just taken out his handkerchief.

"Renee, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest girl tried to jerk out of the way, but he grabbed her and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Dad — geroff" She wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Rennie got somefink on her nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Renee.

"Where's Petunia?" said their father.

"She's coming now."

The oldest girl came striding into sight. She had already changed into her billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Hannah noticed a red and gold badge on her chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Father," she said. "I'm up front; the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Petunia?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember her saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once —"

"Or twice —"

"A minute —"

"All summer —"

"Oh, shut up," said Petunia the Prefect.

"How come Petunia gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because she's a prefect," said their father fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there."

He kissed Petunia on the cheek and she left. Then he turned to the twins.

"Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've — you've blown up a toilet or —"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Dad."

"It's not funny. And look after Renee."

"Don't worry, ickle Renniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Renee again. She was almost as tall as the twins already and her nose was still pink where her father had rubbed it.

"Hey, Dad, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Hannah leaned back quickly so they couldn't see her looking.

"You know that black-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?"

"Who?"

"Hannah Potter!"

Hannah heard the little boy's voice.

"Oh, Dad, can I go on the train and see her, Dad, eh please…"

"You've already seen her, James, and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Frieda? How do you know?"

"Asked her. Saw her scar. It's really there — like lightning."

"Poor dear — no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their father suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask her, Frieda. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their father said, and the three girls clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for him to kiss them good-bye, and their younger brother began to cry.

"Don't, James, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts' toilet seat."

"Ginny!"

"Only joking, Dad."

The train began to move. Hannah saw the girls' father waving and their brother, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then he fell back and waved.

Hannah watched the boy and his father disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Hannah felt a great leap of excitement. She didn't know what she was going to — but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded girl came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" she asked, pointing at the seat opposite Hannah. "Everywhere else is full." Hannah shook her head and the girl sat down. She glanced at Hannah and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending she hadn't looked. Hannah saw she still had a black mark on her nose.

"Hey, Renee."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Renee.

"Hannah," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Frieda and Ginny Weasley. And this is Renee, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," said Hannah and Renee. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Hannah Potter?" Renee blurted out.

Hannah nodded.

"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Frieda and Ginny's jokes," said Renee. "And have you really got — you know…"

She pointed at Hannah's forehead.

Hannah pulled back her bangs to show the lightning scar. Renee stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who —?"

"Yes," said Hannah, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Renee eagerly.

"Well — I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Renee. She sat and stared at Hannah for a few moments, then, as though she had suddenly realized what she was doing, she looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family witch's?" asked Hannah, who found Renee just as interesting as Renee found her.

"Er — Yes, I think so," said Renee. "I think Dad's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about her."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasley's were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale girl in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Renee. "What are they like?"

"Horrible — well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard sisters."

"Five," said Renee. For some reason, she was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Jill and Chelsea have already left — Jill was head girl and Chelsea was captain of Quidditch. Now Petunia's a prefect. Frieda and Ginny mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five sisters. I've got Jill's old robes, Chelsea's old wand, and Petunia's old rat."

Renee reached inside her jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"Her name's Twitch and she's useless, she hardly ever wakes up. Petunia got an owl from my mom for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff — I mean, I got Twitch instead."

Renee's ears went pink. She seemed to think she'd said too much, because she went back to staring out of the window.

Hannah didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, she'd never had any money in her life until a month ago, and she told Renee so, all about having to wear Dahlia's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Renee up.

"… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a witch or about my parents or Valdemert —"

Renee gasped.

"What?" said Hannah.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Renee, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people —"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Hannah, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," she added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying her a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. There are loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quickly enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past. Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled man slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, children?"

Hannah, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to her feet, but Renee's ears went pink again and she muttered that she'd brought sandwiches. Hannah went out into the corridor.

She had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that she had pockets rattling with gold and silver she was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as she could carry — but the man didn't have Mars Bars. What he did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Hannah had never seen in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the man eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Renee stared as Hannah brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat. "Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Hannah, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Renee had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. She pulled one of them apart and said, "He always forgets I don't like corned beef.."

"Swap you for one of these," said Hannah, holding up a pasty. "Go on —"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Renee. "He hasn't got much time," she added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Hannah, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Renee, eating their way through all Hannah's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Hannah asked Renee, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her.

"No," said Renee. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy." Hannah unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a woman's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair. Underneath the picture was the name Anne Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Hannah.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Renee. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks —"

Hannah turned over her card and read:

ANNE DUMBLEDORE  
CURRENTLY HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS  
Considered by many the greatest witch of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for her defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and her work on alchemy with her partner, Niccole Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Hannah turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"She's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect her to hang around all day," said Renee. "She'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of him… do you want it? You can start collecting."

Renee's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Hannah. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Renee sounded amazed.

"Weird!"

Hannah stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on her card and gave her a small smile. Renee was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Hannah couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon she had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. She finally tore her eyes away from the Druid Cliodna, who was scratching his nose, to open a bag of Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Renee warned Hannah. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. Ginny reckons she had a booger-flavored one once."

Renee picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh — see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Hannah got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Renee wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced girl Hannah had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. She looked tearful.

"Sorry," she said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, she wailed, "I've lost her! She keeps getting away from me!"

"She'll turn up," said Hannah.

"Yes," said the girl miserably. "Well, if you see her…"

She left.

"Don't know why she's so bothered," said Renee. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Twitch, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Renee's lap.

"She might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Renee in disgust. "I tried to turn her yellow yesterday to make her more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

She rummaged around in her trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway —"

She had just raised her wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless girl was back, but this time she had a boy with her. He was already wearing his new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Natalia's lost one," he said. He had a bossy sort of voice, curly brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told her we haven't seen it," said Renee, but the boy wasn't listening, he was looking at the wand in her hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

He sat down. Renee looked taken aback.

"Er — all right."

She cleared her throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,  
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

She waved her wand, but nothing happened. Twitch stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the boy. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Harold Granger, by the way, who are you?"

He said all this very fast.

Hannah looked at Renee, and was relieved to see by her stunned face that she hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Renee Weasley," Renee muttered.

"Hannah Potter," said Hannah.

"Are you really?" said Harold. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" said Hannah, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Harold. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore herself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Natalia's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And he left, taking the toadless girl with him

Whatever house I'm in, I hope he's not in it," said Renee. She threw her wand back into her trunk.

"Stupid spell — Ginny gave it to me, bet she knew it was a dud."

"What house are your sisters in?" asked Hannah.

"Gryffindor," said Renee. Gloom seemed to be settling on her again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Val-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Renee. She flopped back into her seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Twitch's whiskers are a bit lighter," said Hannah, trying to take Renee's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest sisters do now that they've left, anyway?"

Hannah was wondering what a witch did once she'd finished school.

"Chelsea's in Romania studying dragons, and Jill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Renee.

"Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Hannah stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My mom says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Hannah turned this news over in her mind. She was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. She supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Valdemert" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Renee asked.

"Er — I don't know any." Hannah confessed.

"What!" Renee looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world —" And she was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games she'd been to with her sisters and the broomstick she'd like to get if she had the money. She was just taking Hannah through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Natalia the toadless girl, or Harold Granger this time.

Three girls entered, and Hannah recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale girl from Madam Malkin's robe shop. She was looking at Hannah with a lot more interest than she'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" she said. "They're saying all down the train that Hannah Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Hannah. She was looking at the other girls. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale girl, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale girl carelessly, noticing where Hannah was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Danielle Malfoy."

Renee gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Danielle Malfoy looked at her.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My mother told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

She turned back to Hannah. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

She held out her hand to shake Hannah's, but Hannah didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sorts are for myself, thanks," she said coolly.

Danielle Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in her pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," she said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Hannah and Renee stood up.

"Say that again," Renee said, her face as red as her hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Hannah, more bravely than she felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than her or Renee.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, girls? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Renee — Renee leapt forward, but before she'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Twitch the rat was hanging off her finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle — Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Harold Granger had come in.

"What _has_ been going on?" he said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Renee picking up Twitch by her tail.

"I think she's been knocked out," Renee said to Hannah. She looked closer at Twitch. "No — I don't believe it — she's gone back to sleep."

And so she had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Hannah explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of her family," said Renee darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My mom doesn't believe it. She says Malfoy's mother didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." She turned to Harold. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Twitch has been fighting, not us," said Renee, scowling at him. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right — I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Harold in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Renee glared at him as he left. Hannah peered out of the window. It was getting dark. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

She and Renee took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Renee's were a bit short for her, you could see her sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Hannah's stomach lurched with nerves and Renee, she saw, looked pale under her freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Hannah shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Hannah heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Hannah?"

Hagrid's big hair covered face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Hannah thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Natalia, the girl who kept losing her toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over her shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hannah and Renee were followed into their boat by Natalia and Harold.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to herself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Teresa!" cried Natalia blissfully, holding out her hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. The Sorting Hat

-CHAPTER SEVEN-

The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired wizard in emerald-green robes stood there. He had a very stern face and Hannah's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

He pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Hannah could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

His eyes lingered for a moment on Natalia's cloak, which was fastened under her left ear, and on Renee's smudged nose. Hannah nervously tried to flatten her hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

He left the chamber. Hannah swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she asked Renee.

"Some sort of test, I think. Frieda said it hurts a lot, but I think she was joking."

Hannah's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn't know any magic yet —what on earth would she have to do? She hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Harold Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells he'd learned and wondering which one he'd need. Hannah tried hard not to listen to him. She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air — several people behind her screamed.

"What the —?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. "Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Hannah got into line behind a girl with sandy hair, with Renee behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Hannah had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Hannah looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Harold whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Hannah quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool he put a pointed witch's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Uncle Peter wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Hannah thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see, S  
o try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!" _

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Renee whispered to Hannah. "I'll kill Frieda, she was going on about wrestling a troll."

Hannah smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Hannah didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for her.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," he said. "Abbott, Harry!"

A pink-faced boy with blonde spike hair stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over his eyes, and sat down. A moment pause —

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Harry went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hannah saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at him.

"Bones, Sam!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Sam scuttled off to sit next to Harry.

"Boot, Teresa!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Teresa as she joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Michael" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Luke" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Hannah could see Renee's twin sisters eyeing the boy as he ran over to join the table.

"Bulstrode, Matthew" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Hannah's imagination, after all she'd heard about Slytherin, but she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dahlia to think they liked her.

"Finch-Fletchley, Jenny!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Hannah noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Samantha," the sandy-haired girl next to Hannah in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared her a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Harold!"

Harold almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Renee groaned.

A horrible thought struck Hannah, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train?

When Natalia Longbottom, the girl who kept losing her toad, was called, she fell over on her way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Natalia. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Natalia ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when her name was called and got her wish at once: the hat had barely touched her head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join her friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with herself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"… , "Nott"… , "Parkinson"… , then a pair of twin boys, "Patil" and "Patil"… , then "Perks, Sammy-Albus"… , and then, at last —

"Potter, Hannah!"

As Hannah stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did he say?"

"_The_ Hannah Potter?"

The last thing Hannah saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Hannah gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — no? Well, if you're sure — better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Hannah heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that she was getting the loudest cheer yet. Petunia the Prefect got up and shook her hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Hannah the sudden, horrible feeling she'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up. Hannah grinned back. And there, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Anne Dumbledore. Hannah recognized her at once from the card she'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Hannah spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young woman from the Leaky Cauldron. She was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dianne," a Black girl even taller than Renee, joined Hannah at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Mike," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Renee's turn. She was pale green by now. Hannah crossed her fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hannah clapped loudly with the rest as Renee collapsed into the chair next to her.

"Well done, Renee, excellent," said Petunia Weasley pompously across Hannah as "Zabini, Blanche," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up his scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Hannah looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Anne Dumbledore had gotten to her feet. She was beaming at the students, her arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased her more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," she said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

She sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Hannah didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is she — a bit mad?" she asked Petunia uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Petunia airily. "She's a genius! Best witch in the world! But she is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Hannah?"

Hannah's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Hannah, but she'd never been allowed to eat as much as she liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Hannah really wanted, even if It made her sick. Hannah piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Hannah cut up her steak.

"Can't you —?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Madam Niccole de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Renee suddenly. "My sisters told me about you — you're Nearly Headless Nikki!"

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Madam Niccole de Mimsy —" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Samantha Finnigan interrupted.

"_Nearly _Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

Madam Nicole looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way she wanted.

"Like _this_," she said irritably. She seized her left ear and pulled. Her whole head swung off her neck and fell onto her shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead her, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nikki flipped her head back onto her neck, coughed, and said, "So — new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — she's the Slytherin ghost."

Hannah looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. She was right next to Malfoy who, Hannah was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did she get covered in blood?" asked Samantha with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nikki delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Hannah helped herself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Samantha. "Me mom's a Muggle. Dad didn't tell her he was a wizard 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for her."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Natalia?" said Renee.

"Well, my grandpa brought me up and he's a wizard," said Natalia, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Aunt Angie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — she pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Aunt Angie came round for dinner, and she was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Uncle Earl offered her a meringue and she accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Grandpa was crying, he was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Aunt Angie was so pleased she bought me my toad."

On Hannah's other side, Petunia Weasley and Harold were talking about lessons ("I _do_ hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult —"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing — ").

Hannah, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from her goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in her absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Hannah's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Hannah's forehead.

"Ouch!" Hannah clapped a hand to her head.

"What is it?" asked Petunia.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look — a feeling that she didn't like Hannah at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Petunia.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder she's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. She teaches Potions, but she doesn't want to — everyone knows she's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Hannah watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at her again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to her feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mrs. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Professor Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Hannah laughed, but she was one of the few who did.

"She's not serious?" she muttered to Petunia.

"Must be," said Petunia, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because she usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere — the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think she might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Hannah noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave her wand a little flick, as if she was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with her wand and when they had finished, she was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," she said, wiping her eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Petunia through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Hannah's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. She was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Petunia led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Hannah was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Petunia took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Petunia whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." She raised her voice, "Peeves — show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Petunia.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Natalia's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Petunia, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat man in a red silk shirt and tight black pants.

"Password?" he said.

"Caput Draconis," said Petunia, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Natalia needed a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Petunia directed the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. At the top of a spiral staircase — they were obviously in one of the towers — they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Renee muttered to Hannah through the hangings. "Get _off_, Twitch! She's chewing my sheets."

Hannah was going to ask Renee if she'd had any of the treacle tart, but she fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Hannah had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very strange dream. She was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny. Hannah told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully — and there was Malfoy, laughing at her as she struggled with it — then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold — there was a burst of green light and Hannah woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke next day, she didn't remember the dream at all.


End file.
